


A Little Less 16 Candles, A LIttle More Teeth

by glitterandrocketfuel



Series: Mortgaged Souls [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 16 Candles video shoot, Brendon Urie and Patrick Stump singing Broadway show tunes, M/M, Vampires Will Never Hurt You, demon!patrick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandrocketfuel/pseuds/glitterandrocketfuel
Summary: While shooting the "16 Candles" video, things get a bit too real for Patrick...
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: Mortgaged Souls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533353
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Trick Or Pete 2020





	A Little Less 16 Candles, A LIttle More Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place over the course of filming the "16 Candles" video in 2006. Sadly, it's in February instead of the more topically appropriate Halloween season, but when you're dealing with vampires, every day is Halloween.
> 
> For those of you following along in the Mortgaged Souls AU storyline, this comes shortly after the beginning of the story, about a week or so after the Grammys where Patrick first meets the man in the mirror.

Avoiding mirrors was hard enough on Patrick in broad daylight and with many people around. Doing it while filming a music video centered around vampire gangs added a whole other layer of it. He had more fun than he expected doing "training" sessions with the stunt people.

He could only plead necessity so much ("I need to compose this bridge or else the video is going to have more uncomfortable silence in the middle of it than my last date. Tell Wardrobe to send me the costume here and I'll do my own make-up") before he started raising suspicions over out-of-character behavior. So he gritted his teeth and stared at the make-up girl instead of his own reflection. Ignored the little flashes in his peripheral vision. Definitely did not end up being the last one in the room one time to hear a soft, hissing chuckle from the direction of the vanity. It was static from somebody's radio.

Yeah, he didn't really believe it, either. Still, a week out from his strange experience in the hotel after the Grammys and well into a music video that featured vampires, gangs, and special effects that felt so ambitious and "big time" had him questioning if he really hadn't just dreamed or imagined his reflection talking to him. He was hardly ever alone with the schedule ramping up and everyone around him was acting so _normal_ that it was easy to convince himself it had been stress and tiredness talking to him through the mirror and his retinas had been damaged by all the flashbulbs at the Grammys.

But on the upside, they were having an awesome time bouncing around on bungee cords and doing "wire work." Pete spent an extended amount of time strutting around in the pelvic harness and bragging about his "package," which started Joe off on his own competitive comedy, and the beefy guys on the wire-work team heaving the both of them around like sacks of potatoes. At one point, Bob McLinn joined the team jerking Pete around. Patrick laughed so hard he reached for his inhaler when the filming was completed and Bob refused to let go of the lever arm that suspended Pete in the air.

Pete bobbed and swung back and forth in a shrinking circle until finally he just hung there, suspended by his harness and spinning gently. Patrick was still laughing his fool head off when Pete grinned sheepishly at the camera. "I'm a piñata."

Patrick was still catching his breath off to the side (there was no way he was letting anybody bounce him around on the end of a string) when Pete and the camera that followed him everywhere came over. "I don't have any wirework for the video. I'm the thespian," he said. Pete giggled and elbowed him. "Dude, this is how it goes," Patrick said.

For a few short minutes and without even thinking about it, Patrick slipped into the space he shared with Pete, riffing on the tropes around Patrick being the B-list character actor, their band being action heroes, and picking the movies the video would be most like in a mash-up.

"You hate being the gadget guy, huh?" Pete teased and Patrick shook his head. He was strumming nervously on his guitar while Pete remained in constant motion, orbiting around him like a satellite. "You're a good gadget guy, you wear glasses." Pete's grin was wide but his eyes darted around the room a little more manic than Patrick liked to see.

Patrick laughed and tossed his glasses to the floor. "Uh-oh, now I'm a horrible gadget guy." He sent a few glances towards the camera to acknowledge its presence.

For the shoot they had to film in Griffith Park at night and then head to Paramount Studios for one of the backlot sets (which was much cheaper to rent for third-shift hours than during business hours)—after six pm all the way until six am. Patrick was losing his prime sleeping time while waiting for the call for "action!" for Andy's car scene. All he needed to do was look worried while Joe's net-gun jammed and Pete popped off a hidden trampoline to clear the car and land on a mattress on the other side to take down one of the three stunt actors playing vampires.

The girl that was playing Andy's girlfriend leaned against a truck with floodlights mounted on it. Patrick sat nearby on the truck's tailgate, carefully sipping water so he didn't mess up his make-up (why did the make-up girls all love his bottom lip so much). "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Hmm?" He glanced around to make sure she was talking to him and not someone else. Only the glare of the reflective dish of the uplight kept him company on the back of the truck. "That a bunch of nerds like us are doing a vampire video?"

She laughed. "You guys seem pretty cool." She shook her head. "I was just thinking that I'm an LA native and the only time I or anyone else I know has ever been up here is when we're filming something." She wrapped a sweater around her shoulders. Patrick, whose body still expected February to equal sixteen degrees, was sweating in his vaguely military-style jacket. But the air did have a dampness to it. He gathered that Alan was sort of hoping for a misty, spooky night and the weather looked like it was trying, at least.

Patrick had to laugh. "It's like the opposite of the privacy you'd want to go make out in a car." He motioned around to the approximately fifty people and several large piles of equipment scattered around the brightly-illuminated gravel parking lot. "You need fifty people and all this just to film a scene featuring three vampires, two hunters, a couple in a car, and one Pete Wentz." She laughed again. Patrick continued. "Not that cameras would stop Pete from kissing almost anybody."

Anybody except Patrick, that was. All Pete's kisses for Patrick were reserved for dark places. Dark spaces and dark times when it was only the two of them and Pete needed him like a lifeline. Just things you do for your best friend.

The safety engineer was testing something as they shifted the trampoline and a dark-haired girl with fangs came over and joined them. "They're going to be awhile." She hopped up on the truck next to Patrick. "Whatcha talking about?"

The other girl answered. "Irony."

"What, like the irony of taking an hour and a half to film a thirty-second action sequence that might end up never being seen by mankind?"

Patrick risked a glance to his side and a small smile. "That sounds more like existential dread."

Her grin widened. "I like you." She was obviously in costume and the teeth were part of it, but the smile was still disconcerting with the fangs.

"I like you, too. I'm sorry I have to shoot you with a net gun."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Hey, my job is easy. Barbara over there—" she nodded to the blonde woman with the outlandish hair, sprawled on her belly on the hood of the car with her hands propped on her chin and her feet swinging behind her while she waited with the rest of the cast for the trampoline to be fixed. "Barbara has to get shoved off the car and land on heels. I just have to punch the thing. And hiss." She bared her teeth again. "Without spitting on anybody."

Where Pete's fangs looked kind of cool and also kind of silly, fighting with his too-big real teeth over the space in his mouth, this young woman looked like she was used to wearing them. He'd have to ask around to see if she was in any movies he might recognize.

Joe chose that moment to saunter up, his net gun still in his hand. "If you figure out that trick, would you let Pete know? I have to carry around a little towel."

Patrick snickered.

"No, seriously, he's a very attractive vampire," Joe said.

"I've heard he's quite the catch."

Patrick snorted. "That's what the papers say." Still, he glanced over to her again, more confident this time, and matched her smile. "I'm Patrick and he's Joe."

"I'm Emily." Andy's make-out partner said.

"I'm Angela," said the vampire girl.

The whistle blew and they were off again, taking their starting places. "Action!" Alan called. Patrick watched Angela break the prop glass car window, listened to Emily scream, heard the cue for Pete to start his run towards the trampoline and heard Alan's assistant say, "Patrick, go." He dutifully shot his net-gun at Angela. The blackened ping pong ball shot out and pinged off her left boob. _Oh crap that was not cool_ , he thought. But the prop guy was already throwing a rope net over her while she hissed and flailed and growled in a very believable way.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pete sailing over the hood of the car and onto the mattress on the ground on the other side and heard stunt assistants calling directions to him while he growled in a much less believable way (more like an angry kitten than a tormented vampire) and pretended to punch.

The take was good and the crew immediately started breaking down the equipment. Alan rounded up the "talent" - aka the three actors and the four band members, and they divided into two Suburbans for the trip to Paramount Studios to film the outdoor fight sequences.

"Patrick, did you see me jump?" Pete stood behind him, ready to climb into the car next to him.

"Dude, that was awesome," Patrick replied. Pete's eyes were shining and he looked happy, but a little tired. "You sound a little stuffed-up, though. No licking if you're contagious."

No licking, but Patrick couldn't stop Pete from spitting as he lisped an answer. "It's the teeth." Pete grinned and his mouthful of teeth looked so much more over-stuffed and silly than Angela's did. "How do they look?"

Patrick squinted through his glasses. "Fangy." Pete had a double set of fangs unlike Angela. It turned out that Pete's big mouth made a regular set of vampire teeth look too small. The first set barely showed up on the camera test.

"Can I bite?"Pete grinned and made chompy sounds.

Patrick shook his index finger at him. "No biting. Bad Pete! Besides I read the treatment. I'm going to get bitten by a pack of hot girl vampires."

"Aww, come on—I could be your hot girl."

Patrick rolled his eyes and elbowed his best friend. Pete was no stranger to the whole androgyny thing but since coming to LA, Patrick's certainty that it was a joke or an act had started to wobble. The "am I beautifuls" and "do I look prettys" came out of Pete's mouth as much as the "Do I look handsomes" and "am I hots" and since Patrick's job was to listen to Pete's words, he really _listened_ to Pete's words.

Patrick was ready to crawl into the first car when Alan hollered. "Hey, Pete, let me go over this sequence once more." Pete patted his back and slipped out of the queue, leaving Patrick and Joe to climb into the two empty seats. Since Joe was in front, he plunked himself into the middle row, leaving Patrick to have to climb all the way to the back.

Patrick flicked the back of his head in retaliation and sat back, unsure if he was tired or wired.

"So we meet again." A feminine voice came from the shadows of the other seat.

Patrick startled. "Jeez! I didn't even notice you there. Sorry."

Angela was buckled into the seat next to him. Her dark clothing and hair had blended into the shadow cast by a rolled-up backdrop stowed in the cargo section behind them. She smiled, this time keeping her lips closed, and Patrick noticed that she was really kind of cute, in a faintly menacing way.

The Suburban pulled away from Inspiration Point and the interior of the car sank into darkness punctuated by conversation and the late-night radio playing a talk show. Patrick ducked his head. "Didn't I, uh, shoot you with a net gun? I thought you could go home for the night."

"You did." Her smile widened, showing the points of her teeth. "But I'm also dancing with the Dandies. And you have to rescue me during the fight scene."

"But the girls I rescue turn out to be—" Patrick had read the treatment. "Uh-oh. This is your revenge, isn't it?"

She hissed and made a "rawr" motion with her hand. "I'll get you and your little dog, too."

On the ride down he learned that Angela worked in acting and stunt work, but also held a job in production with one of Island's other subsidiary labels. And she liked Elvis Costello.

From the way she talked, he got the impression that she'd been able to see him live. She made him laugh out loud when he asked if she had a favorite album. She bared her teeth. "Blood and Chocolate, of course!"

"So...not a fan of the hits, I take it?" It occurred to Patrick that he was flirting with her. For as much teasing as Pete and Joe gave him about being shy around girls, Patrick did try.

"It was—everybody still got along," she said. "Plus, Nick Lowe is good at what he does."

"You've met?"

She nodded, but didn't elaborate. The Suburban finally pulled into the Paramount lot behind the line of trucks and they all piled out to the backlot set up to be a city street. The behind-the-scenes camera began filming again, recording footage that would mostly end up on the cutting room floor.

Patrick lost track of Angela the vampire girl when she split for Costuming. "See you later, Snack."

He laughed to cover the blush burning so bad it shone through his make-up. Joe elbowed him and Patrick put up with the teasing until a cluster of bowler-hatted beanpoles in snazzy suits gamboled up to them like a bunch of puppies.

Patrick greeted Brendon, Bill, Mike, and Spencer while Pete was practicing his moves with the punks they were supposed to be fighting. They horsed around (carefully because those light-colored suits had to stay clean) until Pete bounded over to join the pack. From an open car door, Travie waved and showed off his teeth and Patrick waggled his fingers back.

They were filming Dirty's scene and Alan was directing the camera to get close-ups of the phones when Jeremy brought the BTS cam over to Patrick. Patrick mugged for the camera like he usually did. "I'd be scared of me. Vampires of the world, beware!" He was used to self-deprecating humor.

Pete called out. "We're vigilantes!"

Patrick laughed. "Riiight."

Jeremy asked him a question and he was about to answer when he felt hands on his shoulders. "Aah!"

Angela popped up behind him, grinning. She bared her teeth and stuck her face in his neck. That was usually Pete-territory, but instead of staying still, he hunched up and felt his face catch fire. Her hair tickled and she laughed into his neck. "Grr," she mumbled. The vibration of her voice sent shivers down his back where she was pressed up against him. Clearly, his neck was simply irresistible to moody emo creatures while he was performing.

He twitched when she tickled and felt a sharp streak of—something. A pin on his collar or something. She darted away, laughing. He looked back at the camera and shook his fist in mock anger.

The spot on his neck burned as Jeremy took the cam over to where Andy was flailing around with a baton and looking like he knew what he was doing, staking a stunt guy in the middle of the street, then popping up to return to the side area where he watched Joe throw air punches and stunt guys were leaping backward and landing on mattresses scattered on the ground. During a break, Joe flexed. "I am a god! Muhahaha!"

They both watched as Pete went through his choreography, first leaning in towards one of the girls intended to be a victim, and then sending his own bunch of stunt dudes flying through the power of air punches and movie magic. The last guy, a really made-up punk, grabbed Pete and he whirled. With the cue called from the coordinator, Pete grabbed the punk's shirt and lifted.

The punk flew up into the air, held there by a snarling Pete.

The four guys operating the boom lever and wire harness who were really keeping the punk suspended held him there for thirty seconds while the steady-cams lined up shots, then Pete punched him, they bobbed the lever, and the punk went flying backward. Even though it was movie magic and special effects, it still looked cool as hell. "That makes me kinda wish I had a fight scene," he said to Joe.

"Patrick," Alan called. "Time for you to be a hero."

Pete came over to the main camera where he, Joe, and Andy were watching through the viewer as the extras ran around and screamed, some getting chased by vampires, some doing the chasing. "Go save your harem, Lunchbox."

Patrick rolled his eyes, but accepted the net-gun prop from the prop master. Alan gave him some blocking directions and a beat so that he walked at the right pace to avoid getting behind the other people in the shot. "Go for cautious but heroic. You're going to rescue these poor girls—" Alan motioned to the three young women leaning against the wall of the building facade.

Angela was there with two other extras. Patrick was almost positive one of the others was the girl who yelled at him for not accepting e-calendar invites for scheduled promo—hey, he couldn't help it if he had better things to do than check his email. Oh God, she was liable to bite him for real, just for that reason. He waggled his fingers. "Uh, hi ladies."

The AD positioned him where he was supposed to start, stepped out of the shot, and someone called, "Action!" Patrick slipped into his persona as the girls began screaming. I am a brave vampire hunter vigilante and I am going to rescue these women. He stepped forward, Alan's beat still careful in his mind. At a very measured pace.

He reached them and kept his game face on, but one of the girls muttered, "My hero," under her breath and he almost lost it. The e-calendar girl stood to one side of him, the other girl slid in front of him to flank his other side, and he felt Angela's clothes slide against his back as she rose behind him. They held their position for what felt like forever to Patrick but was probably only five seconds.

"And bite!" Alan called.

The girls to either side of him leaned in and tore at his collar, their weight on his shoulders. He was no weakling, but two full-grown women was a bit much. He felt his center of gravity go too far forward. _Oh shit, I'm going to blow the scene_.

A pair of slender arms snaked around his waist and he felt Angela's breath on the back of his neck. "I've got you. Count of four."

Patrick regained his balance and sank down to Angela's murmured, "One, two, three, four." This many women this close to him, he didn't really have to act, especially when somebody's fingernail or earring caught against his neck and poked him for the second time that night. His mouth opened in an 'O' and he let out a groan.

It did not help matters when Pete's voice rang out and sailed over the general background noise. "Get some! Jump in there! Fight the other girls to get in!"

_I really hate you, Wentz_ , Patrick thought, because they did. The girls started slithering more aggressively over him and Patrick lost his balance all the way, toppling him onto his back while they writhed over him. He probably imagined it—no he definitely imagined Angela's lips touching the back of his neck.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the window of the storefront facade from under the arm of one of the girls. It was just a wavy reflection, showing the scheduling girl and the sandy-haired extra to either side of his distorted face, but he clearly saw his reflection's eyes widen, his mouth stretch into a wide grin and his tongue flick out to lick his lips.

A hard, hot streak of fear shot through him as he remembered the strange episode last week at the Grammy's. Very clearly, he heard his own voice hiss under the noise of the girls snarling through their vampire teeth. "Oh, we're definitely not done yet, Sugar Daddy."

Patrick shuddered. Suddenly, the girls on top of him were gone. Blessed fresh air rushed in to smack him in the face and bring him out of a horrified fascination with his own reflection. Belatedly, he realized that Alan had yelled, "Cut!" a whole minute ago.

Angela still cradled him in her arms. "Oh! Uh, sorry. I should stop crushing you."

She laughed into his hat."You were delicious. All the vampire girls are going to want a taste."

He struggled to sit up. "Ha ha." He pushed to his feet and turned around to offer her a hand up.

She ran the back of her wrist over her mouth and took his hand with her other one. "Aren't you the gentleman."

He did _not_ hear a tittering laugh from the reflection in the storefront. He did notice her lipstick had smeared. "Um. You have a little—" He reached up and ran his thumb along the corner of her mouth. Her eyes flashed and he realized that was a really bold move. He jerked his hand back and ducked his head. "Sorry."

"Okay, dancers for tomorrow's shoot, over here!" Someone called out. "We're gonna nail basic blocking."

"That's my cue." Angela put her hand on his shoulder and let her fingers trail down his sleeve. Is she— He lifted his head and looked at the glass of the storefront one more time. His reflection stared back, glassy-eyed and watery. No sign of anything unusual.

"Patrick, wanna review?" Another assistant grabbed his attention while his contemporary called, "Turn in your teeth, people! Make sure you have your name clearly written on the case!"

He stood alongside Pete and Andy and watched the footage dailies through the small processing viewer and tried not to look at his own stupid face.

It didn't help when Andy laughed and said, "Only an idiot like you could do a face like that."

One of the production assistants (a cute brunette) laughed along with him and Patrick muttered a sarcastic, "Thanks, Andy."

Pete hadn't responded, still engrossed in the footage. Andy glanced at him and then at the production assistant. "I'm just kidding, I like that dude so much."

Pete finally lifted his head. "Come on, dude. On camera, we gotta be friends."

"Oh yeah." Andy put an arm around Pete, who looked back down at Patrick's frozen face, then back up at him with a curious expression that was intense enough that Patrick rubbed the back of his neck to diffuse what felt like an actual physical burn from Pete's stare.

Patrick shut out the part of his mind that wanted to turn that look over in his head until he found the angle that clued him into what it meant. There were times when he could practically read Pete's mind and finish his sentences for him, but then there were other times when there seemed to be a wall of fog between them, distorting their cryptophasic communication and knocking them out of sync until Patrick was almost certainly misinterpreting Pete's every thought.

_Forget about it_ , he told himself. _It's so late that it's early_. He rubbed at the damp feeling against his neck. It was actually hitting the dewpoint now and the pre-dawn mist had taken a turn for clammy. Alan called them in for some minor shots—Patrick, Joe, and Andy were all handcuffed against the parked police cruisers and they took multiple takes to get the flashing lights right.

Patrick had his face smashed up against a police cruiser and his head turned at an uncomfortable angle while the actor portraying one of the cops cuffed his hands behind his back and cranked his shoulder hard enough to pull his neck and the stinging flared up again—he was going to need an ice pack.

When Patrick had been released and Alan called it a night for everybody, he glanced around, looking for Angela.

He should have known that Pete would catch him looking and use his uncanny Patrick-humiliation sense to know exactly what Patrick was looking for. "Cute vampire girl. You gonna get her digits?"

Patrick hunched his shoulders, feeling that ache in his neck again. A PA jostled him from behind and Patrick stumbled forward.

"Oh, dude, I'm so sorry. I gotta check these in." The PA held up a plastic basket of dental cases.

"Is that everybody's fangs?" Pete asked.

The Prop Master hollered their way. "All sets of fangs accounted for, Jerry?"

"One hundred percent!" Jerry held up the basket. "Just call me the Tooth Fairy."

The Friends Or Enemies cam guy came swinging by and the PA ducked back out. "Some thoughts on Day One?"

Pete put an arm around Andy, who was the first to answer. "We're wrapped for the day and we'll see you tomorrow."

Patrick scanned the groups of people looking for Angela. He'd never answered Pete but he did want to get her number and was kind of hoping to do it on their way out. He spotted her dark, shiny hair in the line-up of extras rehearsing the dance sequence for tomorrow night's filming. She laughed at something her dance partner said, fangs flashing in the light. _Maybe_...

The camera swung around to Patrick, who shrugged and shifted under the camera eye. The camera that wanted him to play a part, he kind of loved. The camera that wanted him to play the part of himself, Patrick was much less fond of. Especially when the light shone in his face. "I'm gonna...take all this stuff off and...get into some normal gear."

When the camera guy turned away, Patrick blinked the spots out of his vision and looked over towards the Dandies, but the dance group had broken up. He saw the blonde and Emily walking together and smiling as they passed Travie McCoy attempting a moonwalk, but no sign of Angela's dark glossy hair or fangs.

Rather than split up, the four of them got hotel rooms close to the studios for the night—or rather, the day—so they piled into the same van to head out of the lot. Patrick was fading so fast that he didn't even bother to react when Pete's murmured to Joe about Patrick's vampire hottie. He just pictured her in his mind, fangs flashing in the light as she twirled around the Dandy right before the camera flashed in his face after Jerry the PA had come by.

Patrick's half-asleep brain put Jerry the PA in a pink tutu with wings after he called himself the Tooth Fairy. The image distracted his conscious thought long enough for his unconscious to burble up what stuck in his mind about it. All sets of fangs accounted for? One hundred percent! Except Patrick had seen Angela after Jerry the Tooth Fairy had accounted for all the teeth.

So how did Angela still have fangs?

They arrived at the hotel just in time for the breakfast bar, which Joe and Pete promptly ditched Patrick and Andy for. Since Patrick was sharing a room with Pete he just growled at the older man, "If you wake me up before three PM, it won't be fake blood they'll be cleaning off your neck."

Pete grinned and made a chomp-chomp at him. "Go get in your coffin, Count Stumpula."

"Peter! Waffles!" Joe tugged on Pete's hoodie.

Andy was kind enough to guide Patrick's stumbling feet to his door, which was closer to the elevator than the one Joe and Andy were splitting. "Good night—or morning," he said after helping Patrick get the key card in the slot. He even opened the door and found the light switch.

"Mm. 'Night, Andy. Y'r a good friend." Patrick tried to high-five his drummer and missed. Instead, he tried to peel off his hoodie and got stuck.

Andy chuckled and tugged the neckline until it popped over Patrick's head, taking his hat with it in the process. "Go to bed, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Dream about hot vampire chicks nibbling your neck."

Patrick rubbed the back of his neck where the sting had faded into a dull but steady throb. "Already did." The bed looked very very inviting. Andy had just enough time to yank the scratchy, germy bedspread off before Patrick's face hit it.

Andy bent and retrieved Patrick's hat from the floor, tossing it onto the dresser. "Then dream about making a better O face."

"Like you c'd do better," Patrick mumbled into the pillows.

Andy flipped off the light and paused at the door. "My brother, I love you but you will never see my O-face."

The sliver of light from the hallway vanished as Andy closed the door behind him. Patrick thought about getting out of his clothes and got as far as getting his pants halfway down his legs and the sheet partially over him before he gave up and faded out with snippets of "16 Candles" playing in his head and Angela's voice saying, "All the vampire girls are going to want a taste," mingled with Joe's voice muttering, "Waffles," and Pete's unintelligible rumble growing closer.

Patrick slipped back into unconsciousness and dream, where one second Angela was running her hand down his arm and he felt her lips at the back of his neck but when she said, "All the vampire girls are going to want a taste," it came out in Pete's voice and it was Pete's vampire teeth that grazed the back of his neck.

"Trick?" He couldn't tell if it was dream-Pete or real Pete talking until he spoke again. "What did you do to your neck?"

His breath tickled over Patrick's skin and Patrick leaned into it. "Mmmf. Cute vampire girl...nibbled...I'm delicious."

"Hey." Pete butted his nose into the back of Patrick's neck. "That's my territory, Trick. She can't have you. I'm the...the one who...who pays."

As sleep-fogged as he was, shivers of awareness chased themselves up Patrick's spine, cold rivulets that ran right up against the stinging burn that still throbbed at the back of his neck where Pete's dry lips rested lightly. Behind the backs of his eyelids, he saw his own watery reflection in the glass of a fake storefront on the backlot of Paramount Studios, licking lips in reflection that Patrick wasn't licking in reality.

The night after the Grammys returned in technicolor scraps. _I can help you with that...and it'll hardly cost a thing_... _you boys have been on our radar for a while now_...

Patrick tried to turn away from his reflection, yellow-eyed and smirking. _You'll be back_...

**

Patrick didn't remember his dreams beyond a few impressions that featured cute vampire girls kissing his neck, Pete kissing his neck, and nibbling Pete's neck when Pete was dressed as a cute vampire girl. He woke up to the alarm on his phone, freezing because Pete had stolen all the covers during the night—or rather, the day.

He yanked the sheet and blanket back, sending Pete spinning like a human burrito unraveling until he flailed and, with a grunt, rolled right off the edge of the bed.

"Wha—asshole." Came up from the floor.

"There are two beds in this room, Peter." Patrick sat up on the other side of the bed with his back to Pete and rested his elbows on his knees as he fumbled his glasses on.

"I was cold." Patrick felt the bed dip as Pete scrambled back on, then Pete's solid weight pressed against his back. "And you're so, so warm, Lunchbox." He smacked a kiss against Patrick's cheek from behind and left traces of bad breath and pancake syrup behind.

"Ugh, gross!" Patrick flung himself back to throw Pete off but Pete scrambled out of the way. "Brush your damn teeth. Our ride's coming in half an hour."

"Wait—hang on—" Pete lurched forward again and held Patrick's shoulders down while he shoved his hair out of the way. "Hah! I wasn't imagining it!"

"Imagining what?" Patrick squirmed away. "Will you find something else for your tentacles to play with? God, you're like an octopus with a sugar rush."

"Shut up and hold still." Pete could, when he wanted, throw his weight into a serious effort and he did so now, tipping Patrick onto his side and pinning him to the bed. He shoved Patrick's hair out of the way again and poked into Patrick's neck.

The sharp shot of a needle sting took Patrick's breath away. "Hah!"

"What'd you do to your neck, Patrick?"

"Nothi—"

Pete pushed his fingers in front of Patrick's nose. Patrick leaned back until they came into focus and he could see Pete's fingers, smeared with blood.

Patrick put his own fingers to the back of his neck. "How'd that happen?" He remembered feeling a sting, a pinch, a little scrape, but nothing that should have drawn blood. "Maybe my outfit? Guitar strap?"

"We're not filming the concert scenes until tomorrow night." Pete traced over the back of his neck and sent little shivers down Patrick's spine, then dug in more firmly in two places, about an inch and a half apart. "No, you got kinky with cute vampire girl, didn't you?"

Heat crept up Patrick's neck. "I did not! Maybe she scratched me, but it was an accident."

"Patrick." Pete's voice grew firmer, darker. "Do we have to have a talk about not letting cute vampire girls snack on _my_ snackbar?"

Patrick rolled his eyes and surged upright, sending Pete flying again. "I'm getting a shower."

After his shower, Patrick used the shaving mirror attached to the bathroom wall near the sink to look at the back of his neck. Two tiny scratches, barely noticeable, just to the left of his vertebrae. Huh. Maybe Angela's teeth had a rough spot from when they were made or something. He'd have to find Jerry and let him know.

Regardless, it wasn't like he was permanently damaged—the little scratches would likely fade by the time they got dinner and headed to the studio lot—provided Pete could keep his hands off them.

Patrick was hoping to talk to Angela some more, but when they arrived at the lot, the Dandy sequence was already in the process of rehearsal and filming. He caught glimpses of Angela twirling around Mike Carden but he didn't get a chance to speak to her.

When the Dandies finished rehearsing, Patrick and the others piled into the car for the shot where the vampire hunters arrive at the gang rumble site. They drove the car into the "alley" of the set, backed it back up, then drove it in again, lather rinse repeat, until Alan was happy with all the shots from all the angles, then they did it again when somebody realized the overhead shot caught a flaw in the vinyl applique of the Bartskull logo on the car's hood that had to be repaired with gaffer tape.

Patrick had a lighter schedule than Pete, Andy, and Joe. Joe got to toss garbage cans at vampire gang members, wearing his vampire teeth (Patrick still wasn't sure how Joe ended up a vampire, too), Andy was doing stunt fighting like he was born to it. Pete was having the time of his life bouncing on another hidden trampoline, this time leaping into the lap of one snazzed-up Bill Beckett, perched on top of one of the cop cars with a teacup in his hand and a ridiculous-looking dead fake-fur animal around his shoulder and teeth that looked even sillier than Pete's in his mouth.

Patrick's biggest task was to Assume the Position up against the cop car again so they could re-take the shot from the featuring Pete getting clubbed by all the dirty cops. He moved into position and rested his cheek against the car while the actors playing the cops went through the motions of cuffing him about four times, three of which, Brendon Urie stood in Patrick's line of sight just outside the shot and made licky tongue faces with his teeth at Patrick, trying to make him laugh.

"I think we got it," Alan called the fourth time.

Patrick was released and rubbed his wrists as Brendon came cha-cha-ing up. "You ass," he said, without really any heat in his voice because Brendon was such a dork.

"You love me." Urie grinned.

Patrick raised his eyebrows and had a thought. "I'd love you if you told me where to find the girl that was dancing with Carden earlier. I've been trying to get her number." When Brendon opened his mouth—full of plastic teeth—Patrick held up a hand. "Save it. We're not twelve."

"You are un-fun," Brendon declared. "But I saw her over at the other end of the alley a bit ago."

Somebody blew a whistle and Brendon straightened his hat. "Time to go play West Side Story. When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way—"

"From your first cigarette to your last dyin' day," Patrick sang in response. "When you're a Jet you're the top cat in town—"

"You're the gold-medal kid with the heavyweight crown!" Brendon skipped away with exaggerated flair.

"That kid's gonna end up on Broadway one day." Jerry the Tooth Fairy PA said as he passed by.

"Sounds about right," Patrick replied. "Hey, Jerry, listen—I think one of the sets of teeth is defective. I got a scratch on my neck from Angela's teeth last night and I was wondering if you'd file them down."

Jerry looked down at his clipboard. "Angela...Angela...Angela who?"

Patrick frowned. "Uhh, brunette? One of the girls that takes me down in the gang fight? Dances with Mike Carden in the Dandies sequence?"

Jerry frowned, flipped a page on his clipboard, then flipped it back. "I...don't have a set assigned to her. Are you sure you have the right name?"

Patrick hunched his shoulders. "I mean—she had no reason to lie—look, I can point her out on the dailies—"

Jerry shook his head. "No, I know who you're talking about, it's just—I don't have a set of prosthetics assigned to her. Every set has a number, and everyone's name is on their cases. She doesn't have a number. Maybe I forgot to give her one. Go to Wardrobe and tell them I sent you. They have the cases. Look for her name."

Somebody called Jerry's name and the PA glanced back at Patrick. "Head over there, I'll catch up."

Not like the wardrobe trailer was far away. Patrick shoved his hands in his pockets against the night air and trudged over to the trailer. He opened the door and the musty smell of mothballs in fabric and a faint whiff of greasepaint rolled out.

The trailer was a long, narrow aisle with racks to either side crammed full of costumes of every type, from rubber monster suits to eighteenth-century ball gowns and powdered wigs. Sequins glinted in the light from the overhead fluorescent bars leading back. The first one shone bright, but the next three flickered and buzzed off-time with each other. "Hello? Anybody here?"

He made his way along the aisle, leaving the brightly-illuminated part behind to plunge into the weaker light of the back end. At the terminus of the racks, metal shelf racks lined the walls from floor to ceiling holding tubs of accessories—jewelry, hairpieces, purses, shoes in open boxes, daggers, a Roman helmet, pistol holsters with wild-west tooling etched into the leather.

At the end of the middle shelf was the same plastic basket Jerry had been holding last night. Retainer cases piled up inside it, empty, but with names Sharpie'd on each one. Next to the shelf, there was a small vanity with a mirror and a pile of make-up and rubber prosthetic pieces.

Patrick set the basket on the vanity and started sorting through the cases, looking for Angela's name. He found Joe's case, Pete's case (already decorated with bat stickers), cases for Urie, Carden, Travie, and a whole bunch of extras whose names he didn't know, but no Angela.

"Can't be," he muttered out loud as in impossible thought crept into the back of his mind. "There's no such—"

"'When you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,' isn't that how the saying goes?"

Patrick's head jerked up. His image in the clouded mirror smirked at him. "Told you I'd be back."

"You're not real," Patrick hissed.

"I'm not? I think we both know your definition of 'real' is expanding whether you like it or not. Now about that Deal—"

The door to the trailer squeaked open. "Hello? Patrick, are you back here?"

Patrick's reflection pursed his lips in an exaggerated pout. "Looks like we'll continue this conversation later, Tastykake."

"Piss off," he hissed to the mirror.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Angela!" Did her skin sort of...glow in the weak light from the fluorescent? "Uh, I was—" He rubbed the back of his neck at the heat gathering there.

"Yeah, about that." She folded her arms. "Jerry came after me and wanted to check my teeth for an 'on-set hazard.' Like, can you imagine? Being afraid of plastic teeth?" She stepped forward.

Patrick had the sudden urge to step back. "Uh, that's kind of—maybe—"

"Especially in a music video where the treatment doesn't even call for anybody to actually bite." She ducked her head shyly and smiled. Her teeth were really white.

Patrick couldn't stop looking at her mouth. "But—uh, sometimes accidents can happen. Like Joe was supposed to air punch one of the stunt guys in rehearsal but he miscalculated and ended up clocking the guy and he couldn't play for the rest of that day and his knuckles—" He was babbling. Shut up, Stump! His brain said but his mouth wouldn't stop making noises. "Anyway, he had scrapes all over and—"

Angela lifted her head and put a finger to his lips. "Shh." She leaned in. "It's okay, Patrick. Everybody knows there's no such thing as vampires."

Patrick felt the back of the vanity against his rear end as he backed away and Angela moved forward. A weird lassitude spread through his limbs as she pressed her cheek against his.

"I like you, Patrick," she murmured. "And I wasn't kidding about you being delicious. But I'm not all that crazy about Jerry the Tooth Fairy wanting to get his hands on what's in my mouth." Her nose tickled his sideburns. "There'd be...inconvenient questions."

"I don't—" Patrick stuttered, "you can't be—" He felt her lips at his neck and shivered. They felt really nice and she smelled really good and— _they're too soft, not chapped enough. She doesn't smell like sweat_.

Her fingers traveled up his collar to the back of his neck. She pressed into the scratches—please let them be scratches—and he hissed with the sudden sensation of needles again. "Just relax," she murmured. "You won't remember a thing."

Andy couldn't make fun of his O-face this time because he wasn't pretending. Her teeth grazed his skin. All twisted up inside, he couldn't figure out if he wanted her to stop or keep going, even though he was definitely not in love with that promise of not remembering a thing.

Then his own voice cut through the haze with all the subtlety of a chainsaw. "Hey! Hands off the goods, Toots. This one here is off-limits to your kind."

Patrick's head jerked up. So did Angela's. As a result, the side of his face smacked into her mouth and he felt a stinging pain in his sideburn and part of his ear this time.

"Ow!" She said, backing off and holding her hand in front of her mouth. "What the fuck?" She looked from him to the mirror and back again. "How—"

"Listen, Twinkie, everybody wants a bite outta the cream puff here," Patrick's reflection said. "But let's get one thing straight—I got a boss that gets first dibs over any of you low-budget knockoff creatures of the night, and this one is on Her list."

Angela's eyes had gone from a warm brown to a luminous pale grey. Her lips were peeled back from her teeth—which Patrick saw now as a little more off-white than the plastic fangs made for the extras and Pete, but much sharper. Patrick edged away from her _and_ the mirror. "Easy now," he murmured.

"Oh, shut it, would you, Peanut Butter Cup. It's already against my nature to warn this one away from you." His reflection sneered. "I should let her go blood-crazy and wait until you're about five quarts low. You'd take my offer then, wouldn't you, Snack-Attack?"

"What is this?" Angela's voice took on a low resonance that Patrick's ears picked up on and Patrick's spine froze.

Her fangs took on a sheen that he couldn't stop staring at. "Uh...you can...see that?" He pointed to the mirror.

Her lip curled up. "Of course I can see it.

She frowned. "Look, it's none of my business but what the hell are you doing messing with—with _that?_ " She flung out a hand towards the mirror.

"I'm not! I didn't even think it was real! I thought I was—I thought I was hallucinating it. It's been a week and I thought I just...had too much to drink or ate bad onions or something at the Grammys." Patrick scrubbed a hand down his face. "Look—I'm just a guy, okay? I write songs, I watch movies, I'm not—famous."

"Yet," the mirror called out. "I can change all that."

"You know what that is, right?" Angela folded her arms.

Patrick bit his lip and eventually nodded. "I think I do."

"Do you know why it's here? Why that's your face in the mirror?" He was getting used to her appearance—the luminous skin didn't look so enchanting, and her eyes were just eyes. Oddly colored, but just another pair of eyes meeting his and looking away.

Patrick shook his head. "I don't even want fame," he said. "I just want to make music. I don't care if only ten people ever buy a record."

"That," she pointed in the mirror's direction, "doesn't go bothering dudes who don't care if only ten people buy their records. _That_ only shows up when it's close to a sure thing. _You_ must have opened the door to it in the first place. And you better shut it quick." She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "I could help you with that."

Patrick tried to back away but his legs felt heavy and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. A haze settled over him as her mouth touched his skin. From far away, he felt something pulling at him like it was trying to turn him inside out. _I can feel the blood_ , he realized. _I can feel it, leaving my body_. Somehow, though, it felt like more than just blood.

The door to the wardrobe trailer banged open, squealing on its hinges. "Patrick? Patrick!"

He heard Pete's voice, edgy with worry. _I'm back here_ , he tried to say. Only a squeak came out.

Just as suddenly as it crept over him, the leaden feeling in his limbs evaporated. Her tongue flicked over his skin, tickling. He slapped a hand over his neck as Angela lifted her head, his eyes widening in fear at the crimson stain of her lips.

Her eyes were an eerie light gray as they bored into his. She leaned in and pecked him on the lips, then whispered, "Fuhgeddaboutit, mmkay? Forget about all of it. You don't need what's in that mirror and cute boys should have sweet dreams." She looked into his eyes. "Not nightmares." She bit her lip. "Bye, Patrick. Don't open that door again."

"Patrick! Come on, man, you can't be lost—"

The rack of costumes fluttered and a breeze caressed Patrick's cheek and suddenly, Pete was in front of him.

"Dude, you look like you saw a ghost. You're white as a sheet and that's saying something." Pete trotted up to him, his golden eyes searching Patrick's face. "Were you in here with somebody?"

"What?" Patrick looked around. "No. I came in here looking for—" he faltered. "Looking for—um, something..." he trailed off, then shook his head.

"Must've been important." Pete grinned, showing off his stupid teeth and Patrick thought he might have remembered something...something important about teeth, but it faded away as Pete flung his arm around Patrick's shoulders and buried his nose in the crook of his neck to breathe in. It felt like home. "Come on. You keep wandering off and I'm going to put a bell around your neck."

Patrick reached up and rubbed his neck. He waited, expecting...something? But he only felt a little stiffness there, as if he'd been sleeping wrong, just a faint ache. Nothing more than a half-forgotten memory. Pete led him past the mirrored vanity and he passed it without so much as a glance and if his reflection took a moment to catch up, well, Patrick certainly didn't notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to the mods of the Peterick Creations Challenge for running these and inspiring us and keeping us weirdos fixed up with fics to get us through these strange times. Shout-out to the Slack for cheerleading even when I was in the weeds with this.


End file.
